


Magnetized Alignment

by rev02a



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Prompt Fic, Reposted from LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev02a/pseuds/rev02a
Summary: (Moved from my LiveJournal Account)Summary: If the Sorting Hat placed the boys in the wrong house, the Prank at the Willow would be more than a little different. (Team MWPP from some Big Bang in 2010, I think.)Prompt: Aries (March 21 -- April 20): "It's not always necessary to suffer in order to make progress, but adversity does teach us a great deal. The conflict you face now is not essential for your growth, but it can and will be turned to your advantage."
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Magnetized Alignment

**Author's Note:**

> I am slowly moving all my work from Livejournal here in case something blows up.

The Sorting of the 1971 first years did not go as expected.  
Perhaps it was a shade of the bigotry to come, or maybe just a thoughtless prank with long stretching repercussions, but someone

( _Olaf_ Rookwood) charmed the Sorting Hat to place people according to stereotypes instead of their character.

There was reasonable outrage. Parents protested and professors disagreed, but the school's governors cited that "that's the way this school has always sorted..." and, in the end, tradition (and the Rookwood's vast fortune) won out. The Sortings were not overturned, much to the (now righted) Sorting Hat's displeasure.

"There are students in the wrong House," it huffed to Dumbledore, "Godric's House is suffering worst of all! Some are placed according to intelligence, but need to hone their courage to know its depths! And some, those who are loyal and courageous, are among snakes!"

The Hat could lament for hours. In the end, the Headmaster found that the best way to deal with the garment's sulk was to suggest that the wizarding population, when faced with adversity, often learn a great deal more than they expect to.

"Perhaps, those who would be best housed in Gryffindor will teach their bravery to their new housemates. I would also hope that we would see them brave enough to pursue friendships between Houses where once there was rivalry," Dumbledore would muse to the abused headpiece.

The Hat, however, would shift and scrunch down, as if leaning down to meet the Headmaster's eye, "That is our prayer, is it not? For what future awaits us if some of those who are the bravest end up with a deep seated hunger for power?"

Dumbledore never appeared to be touched by this argument, but secretly, he and the old Sorting Hat were of one mind. It hurt him to see his own House's roster missing the names of Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. However, he had not challenged the governors' opinions. The more focused those men and women were on the Sorting mishap and its outcome, the less attention they would give to the presence of a young werewolf named Remus Lupin.

Dumbledore watched Lupin in the early months of his first year. He worried that the gentle natured boy would become easy prey for the more aggressive members of his House. He also feared that the bloodlust that had helped categorize werewolves as "Dark Creatures" would win out, and the sweet child would turn into a black-hearted wizard.

But in his observations, Dumbledore learned that Lupin's true nature would not only leave him a strong willed, yet tender boy, but would gravitate an angry, lonely boy into his life. From his perch at the High Table, the Headmaster was pleased to see Remus Lupin and Sirius Black become true, real friends--an oddity of the Slytherin House.  
  
-*-

1971 melted into 1972, and then into 1973. Really, it is 1974 before anyone is especially prepared for it. James Potter is completely content to be a fourth year Gryffindor. He has no reason not to be happy, he has free reign of the entire castle with the aid of his father's Invisibility Cloak. He is top of his House in every class and, if he is honest with himself, the only other person in the entire year who could even hedge in on his grades is that snobby Slytherin Sirius Black. He has a minion (although he'd never call him that to his face) named Peter who follows him around with an expression bordering on worship. He has the attention of the beautiful red headed girl from Ravenclaw (well, sort of, she threw a book at his head last week). His roommates are decent blokes, although Peter sings in his sleep and those Prewitt twins give him a run for his money in the prank department.

However, he still feels like something isn't right. It is like... well, it is like he is wearing someone else's trousers. They fit all right, but they just don't sit correctly. It is as if one hem is too long or one pocket is off center. He just can't get comfortable this year. The feeling is constant these days and it makes him twitchy.

This morning, he heads down to the table-lined Great Hall and serves himself seven pancakes under a cheery blue-skied ceiling. The bright sun illuminates the Great Hall; it somehow makes his breakfast and the illustrious Miss Evans more alluring. Peter is plopped at his side blabbering on about how much he loves blueberry pancakes. James doesn't mind because he likes his friend. Overall, this day has all the makings of a wonderful Wednesday.

But, like everything else so far this year, the shadows begin to descend.

Severus Snape, the oily snake, rushes into the room. The way that bloke makes his robes bellow and swish dramatically, it was like he was practicing his Dracula routine. James snorts at the thought. The momentary humor was nearly enough to distract James from his routine hex on Snape. Once he is control of his snickering, he raises his wand toward Snape and contemplates giving the Slytherin permanently flat feet or an appendectomy. But then Snape steps close to Evans and James lowers his wand. He cannot chance injuring her.

James seethes. Lily Evans speaking with that greasy, sleazy, dark bat--but all further thoughts are broken by the late arrivals. Sirius Black, straight-backed and graceful with every footfall, enters for breakfast. All of the young ladies at the Hufflepuff table turn, point, gaze, and giggle at his appearance. Black, however, is completely ignorant of their very existence.

He is fully concentrating on listening with open interest to the boy at his side. Remus Lupin is less interesting to look at, but James is aware that several young ladies have found his jagged facial scars intriguing enough to become the basis of entire romantic novels. Lupin says something to further his point, using his Herbology book to gesture with and Black laughs.

A Slytherin laughing? James is perplexed, but eventually decides that they must have been discussing the joys of thumb screwing newborns. He absently follows their progress across the hall, until, with an agile grace, Lupin looks over his shoulder and meets James's gaze. The hair rises on the back of James's neck. It's strange, Lupin makes no unfriendly expression, in fact, he seems vaguely polite. However, the message comes across clearly enough.

_Mind your own, mate._

James casts his eyes back to his syrup-drenched breakfast and then chances another look up at the two Slytherin. Lupin has touched Black's elbow and directed his attention back to the table hanging under scarlet and gold banners. They are slowing in their pace, both looking over their shoulders directly at James.

Both Slytherin are looking him into the face and they hold one another's gaze. A long moment passes and James almost feels more off kilter than he has all year. It's like the Earth decides to spin anti-clockwise or all the atoms of oxygen polarize.

A ghost spreads across Black's face and he looks genuinely confused. Then he trembles--no shakes like a dog freeing its torso of water, and he breaks the connection. Lupin also looks away, while rubbing his forearms as if to dispel gooseflesh, and focuses on Black instead.

It's always been this way; the three of them have these moments of near ionization, as if the three of them are magnetized to pull together. James shakes his head. That can't be true, Black and Lupin are Slytherin, and while snakes shed their skin, they never shed their true, dark nature. They could never be friends.

James notes that the two snakes do not sit with the other people of their year, but settle into a space at the end of the bench, closest to the High Table. Several first years openly beam at the chance to sit next to two boys from fourth year and one of the eleven-year-olds asks for help with Potions. James watches with a confused fascination as Black leans over the girl's textbook and points out something on the page. The girl asks him a question and he turns to Lupin for confirmation on the answer he is about to give. Lupin is examining a piece of streaky bacon, but nods his agreement before biting into his breakfast. The girl turns to another boy from her year and they conference for a moment before returning to Black for more clarification.

James is genuinely baffled. Slytherin don't help one another; hell, they don't help anyone. They're all about self-promotion and self-preservation. But Lupin and Black seem to be much too helpful to fall into either of those categories.

James chews on the inside of his cheek. He's able to assist the younger years, but they rarely come to him. He sees them turn to the prefects and their dorm mates, but not him. Even Peter, who will probably kill himself with a Potions' explosion in the next four years, has never come to him for advice. James tastes the early twinges of copper as his molars scissor into the rubbery flesh of his cheek.

James looks further down the Slytherin table to where the older students sit. In the very center are the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. They gracefully cut their breakfast and daintily raise cutlery to their mouths. They speak pleasantries and polite conversation. James turns and looks at the older years of Gryffindor. Arthur Weasley is laying facedown on the table asleep. Molly Prewitt is using her fork to point as she scolds her younger brothers. Alice Knightly is putting on lipstick. Three sixth years are copying from one essay while levitating pieces of pancake into their mouths.

From the exterior, the people seated at the green and silver dressed table are more civilized than his Housemates. James glares at their petite bites and refined napkin dabs. He knows who they truly are; he knows no one can shed their inner snake.

These genteel, older students are wrapped up in their baby kissing, connection building and are, thus, oblivious of the end of the table, but James sees. Lupin leans his head into Black's and says something. Black grins then slowly turns and looks at the High Table. He pushes a strand of shoulder-length black hair behind his ear and then catches Lupin's eye and grins wickedly.

Lupin pulls his wand out of his robe's sleeve and lays it on the tabletop. James watches Lupin lower his face down to his shoulder and whisper something. A burst of light shoots out of his wand and zigzags across the table, bouncing off of plates and butter trays like a ball in a pinball game. As the ray shoots further down the table, the students begin to follow its progress. Just then, the beam hits the syrup pitcher and the sticky goo explodes into the air and rains down on the polite chatter of the older Slytherin.

As his older Housemates scream and flap their robe sleeves indignantly, Lupin innocently slides his wand back into his sleeve and Black throws his head back and laughs riotously at the sight of his cousins drenched in syrup. The rest of the hall seems to join in with his laughter. Even Lupin offers a sly grin. James can't help but mirror the facial expression. That, he muses, was pure brilliance.

Then McGonagall thunders over the crowd, "BLACK! LUPIN! DETENTION!"  
  
Both boys quit laughing, look at one another, and shrug. James can't help but notice that they don't seem surprised.

Part of him aches unexpectedly. Snakes or not, Lupin and Black are pranksters--damn fine ones at that--and James longs for brothers in crime. He glances at Peter, who is still chuckling at the sticky-coated Slytherin prefects. Peter is great as a fellow kitchen raider and pre-prank plotter, but spontaneous practical joke development is not his forte. James looks down the table at Gideon and Fabian, the twins responsible for the infamous Giant-Squid-Gender-Change-of-1973. They are brilliant as well, but work solely as a pair. In the Gryffindor world, James Potter is a lone mischief-maker.

For the last seven bites of his pancakes, James daydreams about a universe where Black and Lupin join Peter and he in creating mayhem. These daydreams spark something desperate in James. Sure, Peter and he are friends, but they have no marrow-deep kinship that Lupin and Black seem to share (the friendship that James craves).

He can't help himself, James must know what that is like. He skives off Evans-gazing (or "stalking," according to Peter) for the afternoon and follows the two Slytherin to the library instead.

-*-

James finds them at a shadowy table near the Muggle Classic Literature section. Lupin is hunched over a parchment, scribbling notes from a Charms text. He glances from book to parchment, from parchment to book, quill flying in order to fill the twelve-inch requirement.

Black is adjacent to Lupin, but slung over a chair backward, with his knees folded over the back of the chair and his head pillowed by the table. He's reading a book that he's holding over his head. Regardless of the awkward position, he is entirely engrossed. Somewhere between his book copying, Lupin notices this too, and a wayward, boyish grin spreads across his face.

Lupin moves slowly, sliding his left arm out and pulling a book from a pile at the table's corner. He places it directly over the text he's reading from, about a quarter of an inch from Black's ear. Lupin waits, an icon of pure mischief, with practiced patience.

At the same moment that Black adjusts his book to turn the page, Lupin throws the cover of the book open. Apparently, it is one of those ancient Egyptian torture manuals; it emits an eardrum-shattering scream. Black's reaction is instantaneous.

He roars a deep, surprised yell, flails his arms, and falls off his chair. James has to clap both hands over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Lupin snaps the cover of the book shut with an efficient, proud snap and an accomplished smirk. A moment later, Black leaps off the floor and tackles Lupin out of his chair.

"You!--you!--" Black sputters, while pining Lupin to the floor.

"Yes, I am, indeed, myself," Lupin replies, with an even and sarcastic tone.

Black pokes him roughly in the center of his forehead and finally admonishes, "Bad form!"

Lupin just laughs with the skin around his eyes crinkling and his teeth gleaming in the poor light. Black pokes him in the forehead again, and then stands up and dusts himself off.

"And you made me loose my place, you bastard," Black grumbles, as he leans over and retrieves his book.

Lupin hauls himself off the floor and begins to straighten his work area. He stretches his arms over his head, pops his neck, and settles back into his chair. Black, however, pouts.

"More?" he whines incredulously.  
  
"Sirius," Lupin replies as if he speaking to a two-year-old, "I still have seven inches to go."  
  
"You can copy mine."  
  
"That would be plagiarism and, as I have told you before,--"

"Yes, yes, academic dishonesty will send me to the eighth circle of hell, got it. But, Remus, if I sit in here any longer my brain will turn to goo and ooze out of my ears and onto your parchment and you'll have to recopy it," Black says dramatically.

Lupin raises an eyebrow at Black. Black sticks out his lower lip and bats his eyelashes.

"I suppose," Lupin begins slowly, "if your brain were to ooze out then you would be dead. As such, I could copy that essay and turn it in as my own work."

"Yes," Black says enthusiastically, "but while I would not contest the originality of your homework, I would also be dead." Lupin taps his chin with his pointer finger and appears to contemplate this.  
  
"Mmm," he hums, "indeed. That would be rather..."  
  
"Lonely? Agonizing? Painful? Dire? Appalling?" Black supplies desperately.

"Quiet," is Lupin's assertive reply. "Quiet," Black echoes, deflating.

"Imagine," Lupin replies, waving his hands outward to express the possibilities, "I could go to the library and finish all my homework without a single disruption."

Black narrows his eyes and points at the previously screaming torture text.  
  
"I would like to remind you, sir," Black begins after Lupin has looked at what he is pointing at, "that I was being very well behaved when someone distracted me."

"Whomever this terror is should be sent to the gallows immediately," Lupin replies, with a stern nod.  
  
"Now, let us not waste human life," Black says gallantly, but Lupin raises an eyebrow at the words "human."  
  
Black's face darkens, "I'm not having that discussion with you again, one out of thirty does not a monster make."

James is very confused, but doesn't spare too much time on this throw-away comment. He is focusing on the pair's physical interactions. Lupin simply smiles, or perhaps grimaces. Black touches Lupin's shoulder, as would a sparrow rest from flight. Lupin lowers his eyes to his parchment, but Black tightens his fingers on his hold.

"I need fresh air, lest I die in this mausoleum of learning. You," Black squeezes the shoulder again to emphasize his point, "need pumpkin juice before detention."

"I do?" Lupin queries, but he is already moving to pack up his things. Whatever momentary hardship James witnessed has past.

He watches them gather their belongings and teeter to and fro as they push one another while walking out. He doesn't hear what else they say to each other, but what he has seen is enough. They are friends; they are best mates.

Now he is certain, his world is not aligned because he is lacking in true friendship.  
  
-*-

At eight o'clock Remus and Sirius tromp up from the freezing, damp dungeons and knock on Professor McGonagall's office. She calls for them to enter and Sirius pushes the door open.

"Boys, the syrup..." she begins after both of them have settled into armchairs.  
  
"Oh, Professor," Sirius teases, warmth and affection dripping from his words, "we've done so much worse."

"That, Mr. Black, I am fully aware of. However, did you consider that when syrup is charged, it also heats?" Sirius's face transforms into a mask of irritation.

"Mr. Black, that syrup burned students. Now, I know that Professor Dumbledore asked you to perform some of your less destructive pranks to make sure that no one comes to question your Animagi lessons, but I must insist that you not injure your peers in your desire to protect the nature of these meetings," McGonagall removes her glasses and wipes the lens on a handkerchief.

Sirius looks at Remus with a leer and Remus has to cough to hide his smile when Sirius says, "Yes, because we all know that 'the nature of these meetings' would make tongues wag."

McGonagall's head snaps up and forward in surprise. Sirius grins. Remus rolls his eyes.

"I will pretend that I did not hear that, Mr. Black."

"Thank you, Professor, that's probably best," Remus answers hastily for his friend.

Sirius glares at him, but any response he is creating is cut short when McGonagall begins her review questioning with firing squad speed and accuracy.

Remus likes Transfiguration well enough, but he does not like these additional lessons that Sirius has gotten them roped into. It wasn't Sirius's fault--well, yes. Yes, it was entirely Sirius's fault, but for once in the boy's life this could be overlooked.

Professor McGonagall is quizzing Sirius on O'Brien's Six Quandaries of Bowel Configuration. She doesn't need to; Sirius has already proven that he's done the extra reading and studying of the N.E.W.T.'s level material. Remus rubs the bridge of his nose. He knows these laws now too, because for the last week Sirius has grumbled and moaned.

"Who the hell cares that the sphincter must be reduced to his atomic structure and then aligned with its Zodiac element? Do you, Remus? Do you care? Because I sure as hell don't! And, while we're on the subject, did you know that your sphincter, old friend, is the Earth element? Hmm?"

He should be grateful for this entire experience and he knows that. Sirius is a clever chap, but damn rash. The day after he'd confirmed that Remus was a lycanthrope, he'd run headlong into his Animagus transformation study without consulting Remus.

Luckily, Dumbledore had caught the Slytherin in the Restricted Section of the library one night while Sirius was researching. The older wizard had insisted that Sirius continue with his ambitions, but he had also insured that the study continue under the tutelage of Professor McGonagall. Remus is glad for this interference, as Sirius could have easily have turned himself into a dinner bell or an infectious virus or a wad of chewed gum.

"--very well then. Shall we begin the Runeing?" McGonagall asks, moving for some parchment without waiting for Sirius's reply.

Remus is fully aware that he has not been listening at all and he is now clueless to what is going on. Sirius reaches into his robe pocket and produces an abused piece of parchment.

"I've already chosen my Runes, Professor," Sirius speaks with a clarity that does not hide his insecurity from Remus. McGonagall raises an eyebrow, "You've already chosen?"

Sirius hands the parchment to her and she unfolds it slowly. Her eyes never leave Sirius's face, it's almost as if she's preparing to read aloud a note she has confiscated during class. Finally, her eyes settle on the script on the page before her.

"You are," her voice is trembling with genuine affection when she speaks, "sure of these? They are very... strongly worded, Mr. Black."

Sirius just nods, a strong abrupt gesture.  
  
"Very well. Mr. Lupin," McGonagall is passing the parchment to him, "you will be performing the charm." Sirius reacts quickly, making to intercept the parchment, but McGonagall moves it out of his reach.  
  
"You will let him see this, Mr. Black," she says sternly, "otherwise, you will have wasted our time." Remus is more than moderately curiously when his hands close around the edges of the parchment.

"Mr. Lupin, the first set of Runes will be burned," Remus looks up in alarm at this verb, "onto Sirius's right wrist. They are the outcomes of his transformation that he sees as being beneficial for others. And the second set," she says more softly, "are his reasons for doing this for himself. These go on his left wrist."

Remus is aware of how emotional his Professor seems and, simultaneously, how still his usually movement-driven friend is. The first set of Runes are words he recognizes: protection, shelter from harm, brotherhood, pack.

He smiles. Yes, these would be the outcomes for him when Sirius manages to complete this feat. Secretly, he cannot wait for that day. The idea of having company during the lonely hours of the moon's reign settle both his and the wolf's anxieties.

Remus reads the second set of Runes. These, however, actually make Remus's heart shift in his chest. Its typically steady rhythm skips like one of Sirius's well-thrown rocks skirts across the surface of the lake.

Completion. Safety. Companionship. True love.

He looks up from Sirius's delicate writing and tries to catch the other boy's eye. Sirius, however, is gazing rather intensely at the wood grain of his chair arm.

"Sirius," Remus whispers and Sirius jumps as if he's been shocked with a direct current of electricity.

"Sirius," Remus repeats and this time Sirius raises his face. His jaw is set and his face is portraying a practiced indifference, but there is a flicker in his eyes like the sky before lightening strikes. Remus knows this man-child like he knows the pulse of his own blood. Honestly, he's never seen Sirius this terrified in his life.

Instead of pointing this out, he says, "I need your right hand, my friend."

Remus knows the charm and he's not sure how. Maybe he was listening subconsciously when McGonagall and Sirius were speaking earlier. Or maybe, what his professors say about the power of love magic is true and his heart already knew the incantation. Remus, the rational person to his core, is surprised to find that he doubts the former very much.

Sirius offers both his hands to Remus with the insides of his wrists pointed skyward. His face is still unreadable, but his ready submission speaks of the level of his trust in his friend. Remus raises his wand over Sirius's right wrist and concentrates on the symbols that he needs to scorch onto Sirius's skin.

"Inurussi auxliliari nostri." To brand for the assistance of our people, he thinks.

Sirius twitches as the black lines trace onto his wrist. There is a nauseating aroma of burnt flesh lingering in the air under Remus's nose, but he keeps his composure as he surveys the clearly legible Runes.

He looks up at Sirius and searches his storm-heavy eyes. "Alright?" he asks with audible concern.

Sirius nods again and twitches the fingers of his left hand. Remus licks his lips and gazes down at the aristocratic hand. One finger bears the Black crest on his Signet ring. His fingertips wear the calluses of hours of bent over his violin's neck. And now, his wrists will bare his love for Remus Lupin.

Remus consults his magic and finds the concentration for the second spell from his own heart.

"Inurussi ad bonam frugem se recipere." To brand for the betterment of one's self, Remus knows effortlessly.

Again there is the sickening smell, but this time, Remus has nothing to do but look at the Runes seared onto his friend's skin. The areas around the burns are turning pink and blistering. The Runes themselves are charred black and look almost like tattoos. But Remus's eyes see little of this; he is concentrating on the Rune speaking of love. He cannot help but wonder if he is brave enough to declare his own feelings in such an outward display.

Then, McGonagall leans over Remus's lap and dabs at Sirius's wrists with what must be Essence of Murlap.

"Well done, Mr. Lupin," she says gently.

Sirius doesn't flinch when McGonagall treats his burns. He doesn't look away from Remus either.

Their lesson ends earlier than usual due to the drain of the magic preformed. They walk in silent, twined steps. The stone walls echo their footfalls. The temperature of the castle drops lower and lower as they descend the steps toward their dormitory.

"I didn't mean for you to find out this way," Sirius says at the same time that Remus says, "The feeling is mutual, you know."

Both boys stop walking. Sirius is facing Remus with an unguarded expression. There is hope flickering in the thunderclouds of Sirius's irises. Even still, Remus can smell the fear, a heady mix of burned tea leaves, urine, and saline.

"Mutual?" Sirius whispers, as if he a small boy who is hearing of the secrets of Father Christmas.

Remus remembers the bluntly worded letter he received from his father the day after his parents learned of the outcome of his Sorting.

Boys experiment with sex in boarding schools, and Hogwarts is no exception. When I was a lad, I heard tales of how the Slytherin House elder students would force themselves on the younger ones. Be wary of them, son. Be safe.

His father had been correct, of course. On his second night in the castle a huge, dumb fifth year named Kelton Goyle came into their dorm room to "introduce Lupin to the Slytherin rules for Half-Bloods."

As Goyle had advanced into the room, Sirius had stood up off his bed and marched toward the older boy. "Pardon me?" he had asked, with his posh drawl.

Goyle glared at him and moved to push Sirius. Sirius however, raised his left hand and showed Goyle his intricate Signet ring. Goyle froze and blinked furiously.

"Your mother is having tea at Mother's circle tomorrow, is she not? I could write her and let her know how kind you've been to my roommate and I by introducing us to Hogwarts. I could be specific." Even at twelve, Sirius was well versed in playing the game of high society politics.

Goyle had blanched, "I wouldn't touch you."

Sirius turned his head a fraction of an inch, and replied, "No one could prove that, now could they? And who is going to believe

you--a dirty-blooded, low-cultured fifth year--or me--an innocent, pure blooded, heir--in this little tale?" Goyle backed out of the room and begged apologies long after Sirius had shut the door.  
  
"Thank you," Remus had said, and Sirius had waved it off.  
  
"Stay away from him, he's trouble," was all that Sirius had offered.

Remus wishes that he could say that they were friends from that moment on, but it simply wasn't the case. They were simply too different, and it took time for them to overcome their communal lack of trust.

But in time, after their friendship had blossomed and secrets were discovered, they succumbed to the adventures of boarding school, like Remus had been warned of those first days. It was Remus who had made the first move, probably due to Sirius's utter unfamiliarity with affection. In time, however, straying hands and shared moments of gasps and thrusts had bloomed into something else.

Something clearly articulated on Sirius's wrist.

Remus smiles at Sirius and casts a suspicious eye around the hallway. Seeing no one he leans out and kisses Sirius's surprised mouth. Sirius returns the kiss happily and they continue their trek to their Common Room hand-in-hand.

-*-

It's Friday afternoon and James Potter is on a mission. He saunters down the Music Wing with Peter trailing after him. They look into each practice room and move on until they find what they are searching for.

James looks into the second to last door, which is left ajar. The afternoon light is falling into the room like rivets of water over pebbles in a stream. Sirius Black stands in the center of the room, his violin balanced and played with a crisp accuracy. He is in his trousers and white Oxford, although he has undone the buttons at his chest and cuffs. The shirt hangs open and the sleeves are rolled up past his elbows. His hair, longer than regulation, is pulled back with his green-striped tie, but strands of his ebony hair escape at angles all about his head and are tucked behind and around his ears. Even that cannot hold them, the tendrils shake free as certain cords are played with a feral ferocity.

He can't help but look at the aristocratic boy; James feels that planetary tug that he has come to associate with being in the same room with Black. The tingle of wrong-trousers sifts backs into his spine and he can't help but shiver.

Black's robe has been discarded and Lupin has spread it out beneath him as his own personal cushion. Lupin's head is pillowed up on his History of Magic textbooks. He looks like he is watching his lover and waiting for that partner to return to bed. The sunlight graces Remus's hair with the same golden light that gilds the fine dust hanging in the air.

The music dances out over the room, hanging warm and languid like a wine induced haze on a summer's night. Black's playing is meticulous and accurate, however, is entirely played for Lupin's pleasure. Lupin, James notes with a smirk, is more interested in looking at Black as if he were a course of a meal than actually enjoying Mozart. Then again, if Lupin is pulled to Black with that same static-charge that James feels, James can understand the staring.

James shoves the door, forcing it open wide. He hears the doorknob hit the wall behind it, but his attention is focused on Lupin. While James knew that Sirius was creative with his hexes (he had once come away from a duel with perfect, golden ringlet curls), it was no secret that Lupin was the year's best Defense student. James knows that Remus could hex him long before he could get a good handle on his own wand. The music ends abruptly.

"What do you want?" Black snaps, lowering his bow so that it nearly swipes at the ground. Lupin has turned onto his hip, his hand only a hair away from his wand at his hip. James feels like he is watching some sort of Muggle gunslinger Western film.

"We need your--could we, maybe, please--?" Peter stammers, a gesture that suggests that he is more worked up than frightened.

"What do you need our help for?" Lupin asks with a cold politeness. It almost as if he is speaking to a stranger who has unwittingly insulted his mother. Black remains absolutely motionless, violin still perched on his shoulder, Black signet ring reflecting against the polished wood of the instrument.

James steps into the practice room and pulls Peter in after him. Peter shuts the door without being asked to. Both Black and Lupin tense further.

"We need to know how to get into the Slytherin Common Room," James says without further explanation.

Later, Peter will ask him why he was so blunt. James will tell him it's because it's clear that Lupin and Black are prank-minded as well, but, in reality, it's so much more than that. It's that same axel-tilting awareness he has when he partners with Lupin in DADA class or reaches for creamed dandelion weed at the same time Black does in Potions. It's that incomprehensible longing to know them as brothers that he felt at breakfast earlier that week.

He wonders if Lupin or Black feel it, too.

But right then, Peter and he still need the Slytherin password in order to transfigure their green couches into tapioca.

"You knock on the door," Black answers with a clean enunciation and a twitch of his fingers on the violin's fingerboard.

"No," Peter says, clearly delineating the negation, "without anyone knowing."

Lupin is squinting at them both, "Too late for that," he says coarsely.

James is staring at Black. He is like some sort of Greek statue of the wild musician, hair escaping confinement, eyes defiant and wild.

"Like what you see, Potter?"

James expects this comment from Black himself, but it comes, instead, in the form of a warning snarl from Lupin. He breaks his eyes away from Black and alights on Lupin, who is moving from his lounge into a crouch and standing. The strain of muscles speak that Lupin is being possessive, as if he's a dog impeding on another's territory.

James can't help but wrinkle his forehead in confusion. He's heard the rumors about the Snake House's orgies and perverse relations, but these two seem so different than the rest of their House. They help lower years with their homework, they play and enjoy happy music, and they pull pranks--there is nothing perverse about them. Then James watches the roll of shoulder muscle under Lupin's Oxford shirt; he's a lanky fellow, but there are waves of robust power under that white cotton. He can't help himself from cataloging the similarities between Lupin's body language and the similar movements of Frank Longbottom after Winston Chase kissed his girlfriend last spring.

At Lupin's rising, Black moves to set his instrument in his case. Lupin stops him.

"No need for that, Sirius, I'm sure these gentlemen are on their way out. You should keep practicing, after all," Lupin's tone is still polite, but the set of his shoulders is still screaming defensive momma bear.

Black flexes a curious eyebrow at James, "Ah, then you best be off, I have to practice. Remus insists."  
James looks past Lupin's taunt stance at Black's face. There is a slight humor etched into the boy's features, as if he approves of Lupin's reactions, but still finds them amusing.

James remains rooted on the spot. He seems willed to remain inert, be it simply stupidity, or hard headness for not having access to the Slytherin's domain yet, or maybe it is simply that caged, feral beauty of Sirius Black, or maybe the charismatic influence of Lupin's existence- he doesn't know.

Peter, however, is suddenly rash and dumb, "Unity Johnson says you two are poofs. That true?"

Lupin takes the moment to raise an eyebrow at Peter. When he speaks, his voice mirrors the incredulous tautness of his face, "Unity Johnson also claims Sirius is a werewolf."

James can hear Peter's jaw fall open. "Is that true?" the pudgy boy sputters.

"Depends who's asking," Black replies haughtily before raising his bow to the strings again and drawing out a series of heartbreaking notes.

Peter, however, bites yet again, "Me."

Black snorts his humor but plays on. Lupin however regards Peter with a polite contempt.

"My esteemed friend doesn't tend to take to direct questions well; he's quite skittish around strangers."

"Perhaps then," James says boldly, "you had better ask him. Both questions."

Lupin stares into James's face as if seeking out his integrity. The strain of his shoulders relaxes as he moves toward Black. Between them is practiced comfort.

"Sirius," he questions, a strange combination of sarcasm and mirth dripping from his words, "are you a poof posing as a Dark Creature?"

Black pauses in his ministrations of the lonely notes, lowers his instrument from his perfect pose, and in one fluid motion, grabs Lupin around the waist, pulls him toward him, and kisses him wild and amorously on the mouth.

Peter isn't the only one with his mouth hanging open this time.

When Lupin breaks their kiss, his ears are red with flush. Black doesn't seem to care and pauses to place a few soft pecks on Lupin's lips before turning and locking eyes with James, who is gaping like a carp out of water.

"Only for you, Remus," he replies, his dark, sensual tone seeming out of place in the sunlit room and out of character for the boy who had been practicing his violin only moments before.

Peter and James flee, laden with gossip and lust, but still lacking the password to a certain dungeon dormitory. As the door to the practice room falls shut after their exit, Remus leans into Sirius's shoulder, feeling sun-warmed cloth caressing his cheek, kiss- frenzied flesh brushing his forehead, and curve of violin scroll rubbing in his back.

"I don't like Potter looking at you," he grumbles against the starched fabric.  
Sirius's chest rumbles with a laugh, "But I like how possessive you get when he looks."  
  
-*-

Sunday is rough. The moon is hours from rising in full and possessive glory. Remus paces back and forth across their tiny room. He has heard that other Houses have more than two people to a room, but in true Slytherin fashion, they must be different.

Remus is exhausted. His muscles are taut and straining, as if he has run hundreds of miles and is still driven on and unable to rest. His head pounds; it aches when he moves.

Sirius is leaned over reading some Transfiguration text in preparation for his next assignment with the Animangus spell.

"Read to me," Remus says suddenly, his voice already more gravely than usual.

Sirius clears his throat and begins, "The wizard must find themselves in a plain of pure relaxation and clarity. With resolve and concentration the wizard must think of their reasons for transformation (see Chapter 7 on The Importance and Delicate Art of Runeing One's Intentions) and then repeat the phrase 'I transform for ___' substituting in the most powerful reason for the transformation."

Remus interrupts as he turns and paces away from Sirius, "I thought you were supposed to be reading about how to transform your mind into your animal form."

"I read that already."

"What did it say?" Remus asks without energy as the toe of his boot meets the wall and he turns again.

"I concentrate on the Runes on my right hand and then let the animal take over."

"Have you practiced?"

"Ugh..." Remus looks up at Sirius's sudden awkward response, "I did."

"And?" Remus stops pacing and meets Sirius's gaze.

"I peed on the door to Malfoy's room."

Remus laughs aloud but then looks confused, "Wait, why?"

"I think I'm a dog or a... coyote? Or something that would lift its leg anyway," Sirius grins.

"At least you're not a squirrel."

"Or goldfish."

Remus resumes his pacing until he feels Sirius behind him. Sirius falls into step behind him and then circles his arms around Remus's waist and changes his course, guiding him toward his own bed.

"You need to rest," Sirius says in a soft, airy voice near Remus's throat.  
"Can't hold still," Remus replies, moving to loosen himself from Sirius's arms and continue his pacing.

Sirius doesn't let him off that easily. Instead, he tightens his arms and forces Remus to sit on his bed. Sirius pulls of his boots and kisses his brow.

"Lay back, yeah?" he asks and Remus does as has been requested.  
  
Sirius climbs up on the bed beside Remus and begins to untuck his shirt tail.

"I have an idea how to relax you," Sirius mummers against Remus's neck as he begins to plant kisses.

Remus is about to make a comment about hormonal boys, but then Sirius's hands are beginning their exploration under clothing and Remus finds himself breathless instead.

-*-

James can't explain to Peter why it's so necessary to find out what Black and Lupin do, he can only articulate that it is. They're headed to the kitchens Sunday evening about five minutes until curfew when they see Black escorting Lupin down a lowly lit corridor. James can't remember precisely, but he is relatively sure that leads outside.

He pulls Peter under the Invisibility Cloak and they reroute their adventure to follow the other two boys. Lupin looks ill and drawn. He's leaning heavily on Black's arm. Black guides Lupin to a tapestry of a shepherd tending a flock of sheep. The boy in the tapestry bows low to both of them and Sirius returns the gesture before pulling the cloth aside to expose a door.

Lupin and Black exit the castle through the door quickly and James worries that he will lose sight of them in the time needed to wait before opening the portal and following them. When he and Peter do slide out into the night, Lupin and Black are walking in the dew-heavy grass toward the Quidditch pitch. James and Peter hurry to catch up, but both are surprised when Black leans down to retrieve a stick and carries it with him. James notes rather quickly that they have changed their heading and are now advancing on the Whomping Willow.

James is going to call out a warning when Black jabs at the tree trunk with the stick. After his third swipe, the tree stills. Peter gasps his surprise behind James. Lupin seems to be expecting the tree to do this and, instead of paying an attention to the plant, he seems to be looking with concern toward the horizon where the warm colors of dusk are casting a drowsy spell on the day. Black touches Lupin's cheek lightly with the knuckles of his hand. Lupin leans on Black again and with grim smile, Black and Lupin advance on the tree.

Peter and James scurry to follow them under the low branches. They see the tail of Lupin's cloak disappear under the roots of the tree, and they scramble after them, sliding on the steep incline of the packed earth. Black casts a lumos on his wand and they weave their way through a long, low ceiling tunnel in the ethereal gray light.

Periodically, Lupin will turn over his shoulder and glance at where James and Peter are hidden from sight. He squints into the hazy shadows of Black's wand light as if he knows they are there, but Black tugs him along, a constant, jostling reminder to keep moving. James is vaguely aware that the ground beneath his feet seems to be a gradual incline. Then Sirius is pushing up on the roof of the end of the tunnel and opening a trap door. He climbs through and then pulls Lupin up after him. He closes the door and James and Peter are thrust into darkness.

James and Peter wait for several long minutes before they try the entrance themselves. They open it as slowly and as quietly as possible. They peek out of the small space afforded for them to see and are rewarded with a dusty hovel illuminated by the last rays of daylight. James opens the portal wide and hauls himself up and out of the tunnel; Peter follows.

There is some additional light warring with the long shadows in the upstairs rooms, so the boys walk on quiet feet until they have climbed steps and passed long abused boards. The walls are raked with gauges, and the small reminders of furniture that remain in this abandoned place are nothing more than splinters and scraps of cloth.

The room they move toward, however, is in better shape. It is in shambles too, but it retains a certain quality of civility that the rest of the shack lacks. James and Peter linger in the doorway, watching the scene unfold before them. Black is helping Lupin out of his cloak and clothes. Lupin sits on a sagging mattress. Black folds the clothing and stores it in a drawer of the bedside table. He then turns back to Lupin and brushes his fingers through Lupin's hair with a measured and gentle tenderness.

"I'll be with you... even if I'm not," Black whispers and leans down to press a kiss to Lupin's nose.

Lupin only stiffens and groans.

"Go," he croaks. Black presses another kiss to Lupin's forehead and then leaves the bedside at a full run.

Peter and James are backpedaling, but Peter has never had natural grace. His feet hook on the hem of the cloak and he stumbles, falls, and trips James in the process. Black must hear their combined exclamations as they tumble to the floor, but he is not quick enough to avoid tripping on them. He falls forward, his hips colliding with James's shoulder.

Black scrambles up and reaches out to find purchase on whatever he's fallen on. He grabs a handful of cloak and James's hair and pulls. The cloak wrenches free and James yells with pain. James rubs at his scalp before looking up at Black.

Sirius Black is a pale boy, but in these growing shadows and in this moment of panic, he looks like the Undead.

"Oh, shit," he whispers.

Then Black glances over his shoulder to where Lupin has folded in on himself, hugging his knees and rocking slowly as if he's about to be ill. Black grabs James by the shoulder and Peter by the shirt collar and proceeds to pull them along with him as he runs down the stairs.

"Out!" he yells, shoving them toward the tunnel door, "Go!"  
But James digs in his heels and shoves back, which forces Black to stumble.

"Why the hell should we go just because you command us to? We're not your underlings, Black," and with that James shoves Black again and heads back for the stairs.

"No! Potter! NO!" Black yells and runs at James.

Peter however is frozen on the spot where Sirius quit bodily moving him. It takes a moment for James to hear what has made his friend so still, then he hears it too. The moan of pain, then the ragged breathing, and then... then... the sound of... a fork on a dinner plate or dry sticks being snapped in half.

Then screaming. Blood curdling screaming.  
  
Black pales again, a child freshly woken from a nightmare, with widening, watering eyes and a gasping, trembling mouth.  
  
"Is that Lupin?" James yells, rounding on Sirius, "What the hell are you doing to him, you pervert?"  
  
Then James pounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Black is screaming at him and running along behind him, but James will not tolerate this. No one will stand back and be tortured while he can do something about it. At the head of the stairs his breathing is uneven and his heart is pounding like it's doing the cha-cha in his ribcage. He throws himself into the bedroom and stops short when his eyes rest on Lupin.

There is moonlight pouring into the room between the slats of the boarded up window. On the bed, screaming in pain, Lupin's body twists and contorts, snaps and reforms. Fur sprouts. Fangs sharpen. Paws form.

Then Black grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back toward the stairwell.  
  
"Run, you fucker! Run!" Black yells and they're stumbling over one another as they escape down the rickety steps.

The howls stop abruptly and then there is the sound of weight falling onto the floor and James knows that the wolf--the werewolf-- is coming for them. Black is looking over his shoulder and pushing a stumbling James down another step.

Then there is a sensation of something behind him and it prickles at the hair on his neck. And Black is turned and slowing. He grabs onto James's bicep and clutches his wand and yells, "jump!"

They do, leaping off the stairs from its middle, with only Sirius's levitation charm to slow their decent. They still impact with a jarring thump, but there is the sound of awkward paws and claws on wood scrambling down after them and they're running again for Peter and the trap door.

Peter's eyes are open wide and he's unable to react beyond that. But the clatter of toenails is only a few stairs away and James raises his wand at the wolf and yells an incantation.

"Stupi--"

But Black's fist intercepts with James's jaw and his words are cut short.

"That's REMUS, you fucker!" Black screams, a storm's violent fury loosed in his eyes replacing the terrified child.

Then he pushes the staggering, bleeding James into Peter and he's turning back to the snarling werewolf that is charging at them. Who is only a small cry away from them.

James hears him repeat, again and again, a strange death prayer, "I transform for my love, I transform for my love," and his mantra is sounding more and more fearful as he strides forward toward the wolf.

James makes to scream a warning at Black around his bloodied lip, but he falls silence when magic crackles in the room. There is the sound like someone has let out a deep exhale and the world around Black swirls, like the funnel of water draining from a bathtub. And in his place is a gigantic, black dog.

The werewolf stops his advance, but locks his legs and lowers his shoulders. He issues a low, ferocious growl at the dog, who whines in response.

James waits no longer before turning on his heel and running. Peter and he drop down into the tunnel, pull the trap door shut, and run down the tunnel, feet banging the earthen walls and head's ramming into tree roots. There is nothing pursuing them, but they still run as if there is.

Peter is gasping desperately behind him. Sweat is rolling down the collar of James's shirt. He thinks that he or Peter or maybe both have wet himself; he can smell urine in the air. That stench reigns in the stale, cool air of the tunnel, but James can smell newly set night and starlight so they must be nearing the end. Sure enough, the ground begins to ascend and they claw their way out of the tunnel and into the night lit campus of Hogwarts.

Peter kicks at the tree trunk until his boot collides with a knot and the Willow stills. The boys run out from the still vines and hurry, nearly blindly, until they collide with something and then one another.

Albus Dumbledore stands still and unmovable in their path. Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall are at his side. "Where is Sirius?" McGonagall gasps, looking beyond the two boys.  
  
"He--he--transformed!" Peter sputters, still wheezing for air.  
  
"He's an Animagus, but Lupin is a--" James cries, trying to get his anger and terror across.

"--that will be quite enough, Mr. Potter. If you and Mr. Pettigrew would follow me to my office please," Dumbledore rumbles, leaving no room for argument.

Peter casts a weary glance back toward the tree, but James is fixed on the spot.  
  
"YOU KNEW!" he yells, anger spilling from his words.  
  
Dumbledore turns back to face James and the Willow. He stares at James, his eyes searching the boy's face.

"Of course, my boy, of course I knew. I know of Sirius Black's family situation. I know of his studies to become an Animagi for his friend. I know that both Remus and Sirius should have been Gryffindors and shared your dorm room. I know--no, I wish that you four would be friends. I am old, Mr. Potter and I know many, many things."

James's mouth falls open. Lupin and Black were supposed to be Gryffindors? It seems unlikely. But then, in the clarity of terror and clean, night air, James wonders if that isn't a lie. Black just defended and transformed on behalf of a werewolf--no, he did all that on behalf of his friend, or according to his chant, his love. James licks at the blood staining his lip. Sirius Black might be the bravest person he knows. And Lupin--Remus--is willing to live his life in the full knowledge of people's scorn for his affliction and his sexual orientation. That seems brave as well.

Peter looks ill but squeaks out, "I was supposed to room with a werewolf?"  
  
Madam Pomfrey steps forward and speaks quickly and harshly, "Remus Lupin is more than that. He is an intelligent, kind young man. If your bigotry keeps you from seeing that, then you're a fool," she spits angrily.

"Poppy," Dumbledore says gently, raising his hand to restrain her.  
  
He turns with a polite order toward the Head of the Gryffindor House, "Minerva, will you go and check on Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin."

"Of course," she replies, her Scottish accent thick with the late hour, "I hope that if he wasn't able to turn completely, that he at least changed himself into an object..."

"If he was bitten," Peter begins, looking back as Madam Pomfrey prods the Willow's knot with the stick Sirius had used earlier.

"Then Sirius Black will be a werewolf and Remus Lupin will be killed," McGonagall states with a clipped articulation and without pausing in her step, "Albus, please see that these students receive just punishment regardless of the outcome. I know that these two fools are of my House, but I feel I am too connected to this incident to be just and fair... however, Potter, Pettigrew, if Black is dead... and Lupin is killed... you will carry their deaths on your heads."

Dumbledore nods at her as she transforms into a cat and skitters down under the roots. James opens his mouth, but no words form. Dead. Black could be dead and Lupin will be killed for it. He opens his mouth again but Dumbledore speaks.

"Come along then, gentlemen we have several matters to discuss before dawn," he says and takes Pomfrey's arm, "They'll be fine, Poppy. Minerva will tend to both of them, tonight."

Pomfrey nods and wipes at her face with her fingertips. James's brain comprehends that she is crying because Lupin is a good person, but it is also coming to another conclusion, that the Head of his House is very correct. Lupin's death will be on his head.

-*-

Remus awakes in the Hospital Wing. He's achy and tired. He blinks at the bright daylight and wonders how he got into the Wing. He usually remembers some of the transformation and the exhausting trek back into the castle. He closes his eyes and then, after a lingering moment, opens them again. Sirius is not at his bedside. That is strange as well.

Madam Pomfrey appears in his field of vision.  
  
"Hello, poppet," she says, affectionately, "how are you feeling?"

"Tired," he rumbles, and as he takes the vials of potions that she offers to him, he asks, "Has Sirius been here today?"

Pomfrey looks ashen for a split second and then moves to pull back the curtain that separates his bed from the rest of the ward. Sirius appears to be sleeping next to him. Remus tries to understand what this means.

"Someone hexed him?" he grinds out, wishing his voice didn't sound so raw.

"No, love," she sinks into the chair at his bedside, "Potter and Pettigrew followed you two to the Shack last night. They apparently wouldn't listen to reason and Sirius couldn't get them to leave..." there is anger tingeing into her voice.

"Oh, oh, Merlin," Remus's stomach is suddenly violent, seizing and throwing itself against his ribcage.

"No one was hurt," she continues hurriedly, "Potter and Pettigrew made it out because Black--Sirius transformed."

Remus freezes.

"He...he... what?"

"He completed his transformation last night. The youngest Animagus on the Continent, at the age of 15," and there is pride in her eyes, but also fear.

"He's... all right, then?" Remus can't help but hope.

"Yes, love. He's a little scratched and such, but I had to knock him out. He decided that he was going to beat the daylights out of Potter..." she says something else under her breath that Remus is fairly certain is "and he'd have deserved it."

They talk for a few more minutes and Remus, for the first time ever, can remember moments from his night as a wolf. Flashes of chasing a black tailed canine, of stalking a tabby cat, and of napping on the broken mattress, safely curled around that big, black dog.

Someone calls for Pomfrey and she excuses herself. Remus, muscles screaming in protest, climbs out of his bed and into Sirius's. In his sleep, Sirius snuggles down and brushes his nose into Remus's hair. Remus sighs, the warmth of Sirius's body easing the tired muscles in Remus's body and, he too, slides into a peaceful nap.

-*-  
  
Tuesday morning it rains.

Potions is the first class that the Gryffindors have with Slytherin House since the incident at the Willow. Peter and James tentatively enter the moldy smelling room, neither is sure what to expect. Lupin and Black are sharing a table in the middle of the classroom, chattering with one another. They fall silent when they see the Gryffindors.

James slides into his usual seat next to Peter and chances a glance back over at the two Slytherin. He is startled to find both Lupin and Black are looking at him. There is that familiar prickle of connection when Black locks eyes with him. Then Black's gaze hardens and he mouths the words "after class" as Professor Yfel begins.

The lesson is interesting, but not enough so to keep his full attention. Peter fidgets the entire class and singes his own eyebrows off from his ineptitude and nervousness. At the bell, both linger in putting their caldrons away. They finally exit the room and wait for Black and Lupin.

In time, the two exit and stand directly in front of the two Gryffindors.  
  
"Dumbledore told us you're sworn not to tell anyone," Black begins, staring James down.

"We took a vow of silence," James replies, meeting Black's gaze.

"If you say anything, that vow won't be the thing to be afraid of, Potter," Black growls, leaning in close. Peter whimpers from beside James's shoulder.

"Sirius," Lupin says, grabbing Black by the shoulder and pulling him backward, "knock it off." Black sniffs angrily and crosses his arms.

"Listen Potter, Pettigrew," Lupin begins, looking straight at James and then at Peter, "we have a decision here. You know our secrets, ALL of them. You can either run around with that as possible blackmail or you can... get to know us."

James knows his mouth is hanging open again, but he can't seem to help it.  
  
"What do you say to a quick fly around the pitch after lunch?" Lupin asks while he extends his hand to James.

James stares at the hand presented to him, knowing full well what kind of hand it is. A Slytherin. A Dark Creature. A werewolf. A poof.

He takes Lupin's hand firmly and shakes it. Peter stiffens and chokes on a cough beside him, but hastily offers his hand too. Black smiles as Lupin introduces him, "I'm Remus Lupin and this is my boyfriend Sirius Black."  
  
"And your dog, too, right?" James asks innocently.  
  
Black's smile turns from polite to genuine as he begins to laugh. "Indeed, old chap, indeed."


End file.
